A fleeing Taliban, desperate for water, was plodding through the Afghan desert when he saw something far off in the distance.Hoping to find water, he hurried toward the oasis only to find a Gunner selling regimental ties.The Taliban asked, "Do you have water?"The Gunner replied, "There is no water, the well is dry. Would you like to buy a tie instead? They are only £5."The Taliban shouted, "Yo...u idiot infidel! I do not need an over-priced tie. I need water! I should kill you, but I must find water first!""OK," said the Gunner, "It does not matter that you do not want to buy a tie and that you hate me. I will show you that I am bigger than that. If you continue over that hill to the east for about two miles, you will find our Sergeant's Mess. It has all the ice cold water you need. Inshallah."Cursing, the Taliban staggered away over the hill.Several hours later he staggered back, collapsed with dehydration & rasped......"They won't let me in without a f****g tie

2 blokes from B20 crawling across the desert dying of thirst. In the distance in between the sand dunes they can just make out some striped arab tents and a bit of bunting and the tops of some date palms.

Head for the oasis, says Sandy McTwat (for it was he).

And the two head off in that direction.

They come to the first gaily decorated tent and gaspingly implore the swarthy, bearded Arab tent owner for water.

Sorry Effendi's, quoth the tent owner, I only have sponge cake and cannot help you.

With no option available our two hero's crawl to another tent, even more gaudily decorated than the last. They beg the hook nosed denizen of the desert for water. But he says that he only has strawberry jelly.

In despair the parched two crawl to the last tent and repeat their desperate need to the haughty, hawk wearing occupant, only to find that he only has custard.

The desperate pair crawl away across the scorching desert and as they crawl over the blistering sand, Sandy says hoarsely: "That was a trifle bizarre".

Is this the business class lounge? Great, I'll have a few drinks before boarding then.

2 blokes from B20 crawling across the desert dying of thirst. In the distance in between the sand dunes they can just make out some striped arab tents and a bit of bunting and the tops of some date palms.

Head for the oasis, says Sandy McTwat (for it was he).

And the two head off in that direction.

They come to the first gaily decorated tent and gaspingly implore the swarthy, bearded Arab tent owner for water.

Sorry Effendi's, quoth the tent owner, I only have sponge cake and cannot help you.

With no option available our two hero's crawl to another tent, even more gaudily decorated than the last. They beg the hook nosed denizen of the desert for water. But he says that he only has strawberry jelly.

In despair the parched two crawl to the last tent and repeat their desperate need to the haughty, hawk wearing occupant, only to find that he only has custard.

The desperate pair crawl away across the scorching desert and as they crawl over the blistering sand, Sandy says hoarsely: "That was a trifle bizarre".

Is this the business class lounge? Great, I'll have a few drinks before boarding then.

Click to expand...

Fuck - beat me to it.

OK, a short version of a long shaggy dog:

A squaddie from the CG got lost on a desert exercise, and after 7 days was just about to peg out when he saw a Bedouin encampment in the distance.

With his last remaining strength he crawled up to the biggest tent, and an Arab sheikh came out.

"Ow, allright pal?' said the Guardsman (for he was a Smoggy from the Boro) - 'can I have a drink'?

The Sheikh said 'Good lord - you're from the Boro aren't you? I went to uni there. As you know, it's against Arab hospitality to turn away a guest, but first I want to make sure that you are from the Boro. Now, I know you Smoggies like your beer, are handy with your mitts and canny with the birds, so I'm going to set you three tests to prove you're from the Boro.

In the first tent there are 20 pints of Camerons - you've got 10 minutes to neck the lot. In the second tent is a rare desert tiger with an abscessed tooth. You've got to take the tooth out. In the third tent is my 5th wife. I won't say she's frigid, but when she opens her legs a light goes on. You've got to shag her to climax". "Pass these three test, and you can have whatever you want".

So the Boro squaddie crawls into the first tent. 5 minutes later he bounds out, rat-arsed and ready for a scrap, and dives into the tent with the tiger. All hell breaks loose, and the most terrible roars and screams ring out over the sound of an epic fight as the tent goes from side to side and up and down.

Half an hour later the squaddie crawls from the wreckage of the tent, covered in blood and bites, with an eye-ball hanging down his cheek. He looks at the Sheikh with his one remaining eye and says: